


The Birth of the Dragon

by saltwaterselkie



Category: The Heir Chronicles - Cinda Williams Chima
Genre: Backstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, One Shot, The Trade, spoilers for the wizard heir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27701485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwaterselkie/pseuds/saltwaterselkie
Summary: **Spoilers for The Wizard Heir**Before Linda Downey was a spymaster, rebel, and enchanter extraordinaire, she was a sixteen-year-old girl who got in over her head.A one-shot of the experiences that shaped Linda's motivations and actions. How she got into the Trade and how she got out of it. (Set waaaay before the events of the main series.)
Relationships: Linda Downey & Leander Hastings
Kudos: 3





	The Birth of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> You know that old saying, "if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself"? Given the VERY unfortunate fact that Linda Downey is one of my favorite characters ever (though I'm not sure I could pinpoint why) and yet I can't find a Linda-centric fic no matter where I search, I decided to write one myself. Because even if I'm the only one who will ever read it, now it exists
> 
> Linda fascinates me, and that's that. Enjoy :)

Linda Downey had been sixteen for three days when she was taken for the Trade.

It had been her own fault, really. She’d been making connections with Anawizard Weir since she was fourteen and coming into the first trickle of her power (Nick had helped her with that). Still, she hadn’t been extraordinarily invested in wizard politics until that two-faced wizard Jessamine Longbranch had given Jack a warrior’s stone instead of a wizard’s.

That got Linda fired up. Especially the way Longbranch had looked at her as she protested, the ease with which the wizard had threatened Linda with the Trade. Almost like it wasn’t a threat at all – just an inevitability.

Linda knew the Trade more as a concept than a concrete reality. Nick had warned her against it, of course, told her as soon as her powers began to manifest that to be an enchanter in a wizard’s world was a dangerous thing. Especially, he had seemed to imply – even though Nick was forward-thinking in many ways, she’d thought him a bit old-fashioned in this regard – for a _female_ enchanter.

Still. On Longbranch’s tongue it made Linda flinch, made her remember that Trinity High School and its Anaweir student body were not representative of the world at large. Somewhere out there were people who would pay money for Linda. To _own_ her.

The thought left a sour taste in the back of her throat, as did what Longbranch had done to Jack. One callous action on the part of a wizard had put Linda’s nephew in mortal danger. If the Red Rose ever found out…

It was the callousness that affected Linda the most. The callousness was what had set a fire in her stomach. She’d stopped just making connections with sorcerers and seers and started developing a network. Slowly, she’d teased out the people she’d need to work with if she was going to uproot this world order.

She didn’t know what it had been the day she found out that a small cell of underguild activists living in New York City had been captured for the Trade. Perhaps it was the fact that she had just twisted a short, idiotic Trader around her finger, teasing the information out of him without ever letting on that she was an enchanter. Perhaps it was the thought of being the hero, of taking a concrete step to free her fellows in arms. Really, Linda would realize, it was hubris – her confidence in herself outweighing all else.

She knew one of the captured parties by name – Diana, a seer – and two by reputation: Kellen and Korren, twin sorcerers. She knew that they were to leave New York on a plane the next day. So Linda had made a decision.

She hitchhiked to New York.

It wasn’t like it was difficult; she was young, pretty, and chock-full of magic. (Nick had told her sternly that she was one of the most powerful enchanters he had ever met. He had also told her not to let it go to her head. Linda was sixteen; she had only paid attention to the first of the two points.) Truck drivers did double-takes when they saw her with her thumb out. She didn’t worry about the more unsavory ones; she knew she could talk her way out of any situation, no matter how bad.

She’d decided on a plan of action before approaching the apartment where the captives were being held. She was prideful, true, but not stupid; she knew that going in without a strategy would just be inviting trouble. (But also: she was a teenager. She was _invincible_.)

She planned to scope out the joint first. Namely, she would “deliver” a pizza to the wrong address, take a look in the apartment, and see if she could figure out how best to bust out the captives when the Traders were sleeping. (And they _would_ be sleeping, if the pizza idea worked; she would dose it with a sleeping draught she’d learned how to make back in Trinity.) After step one, it would be easy to return, pick the lock (or break it open) and make off with Diana and the twins.

Things went wrong at step one.

The first part was fine. Linda sweet-talked a nearby Papa John’s into letting her borrow a uniform and a pizza, prepped the slices, and headed for the apartment. She had no problem getting in and no problem finding the door.

It was then that the trouble started.

As soon as the door opened, Linda knew she’d made a mistake. She couldn’t see the captives anywhere. What she _could_ see was four Traders, an unmistakable aura of _wizard_ seeping out of them. They stank of it.

The man at the door eyed her, his gaze skipping over her figure. She clutched the pizza box to her chest like a shield and raised an eyebrow. “Room 309? Did you happen to order a pizza, sir?”

She knew, even then, that she needed to leave. She’d thought there might be one Trader here, maybe two; she’d even been considering continuing with the plan if there were three. But _four?_

“No,” the man replied, his voice gruff, “we didn’t.” He shifted on his heels, his eyes appraising. “Now, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Inside, Linda was panicking. She knew at once that she was in over her head; this was far too much, far too fast. “Sorry, sir,” she said, shaking her head, “I think it might have been 209 after all.” She turned on her heel without waiting for an answer and took a step down the hall.

That was when he stepped out after her, his hand closing around her upper arm – covered by her uniform jacket, thank _goodness_. Linda was still learning how to avoid what Nick called “leaking” magic when a wizard first touched her. But as it turned out, that wasn’t going to matter.

“Hey, Jerry,” the Trader called back to one of his friends, his eyes not leaving Linda’s, “wouldn’t you agree that Pizza Girl here is just… _enchanting?_ ”

Had she been older, had she been more experienced, she might’ve stood a chance. She would have known not to give any sign of knowledge, any reaction to what he’d just said. But the moment that word left his mouth – _enchanting_ – she felt herself flinch. Almost imperceptibly.

 _Almost_.

And then it was him knocking the pizza box to the floor, his hand grabbing her neck, the spark of her traitorous magic meeting his wizard’s touch. He sent wizard flame into her, then, so fast and painful that her legs gave out beneath her. She’d never felt such a thing, the agony seeping beneath her skin like it belonged there; it took her so by surprise that she barely noticed the immobilization charm he was casting until it slammed her into the floor.

“An _enchanter_ , boys!” the Trader crowed, towering over her with one hand still pressed on her neck – _possessively,_ she thought, her heart sinking into her stomach. “Nobody told me the goods were going to start coming to us!”

And all Linda could think, her cheek pressed into the musty carpet, her nerves still tingling with phantom pain, was _I think I’ve made a grave miscalculation_.

<><><>

They took her to Britain and sold her to a wizard right off the bat. He sold her back to the Trade a week later at a diminished price. “Get back to me when you break her,” the wizard had said, handing Linda’s chains over to a stall owner. “She’s too feisty for my current tastes.”

She learned that she was a unique item – at the moment, the only enchanter on the market. She’d never met another enchanter, but she saw many members of the other underguilds pass through the halls of the Trade. Seers, sorcerers – though never warriors, which Linda knew were rarer even than she was. After the flight to Britain and the initial sale, she never saw Diana and the twins again.

It was hell. She didn’t know any other way to put it. Linda didn’t _believe_ in hell, necessarily, but the concept was a good one to apply to other situations, and it was most definitely relevant to her current predicament.

She learned that the wizards who paid for her were all the same. They liked her hair – liked winding their fingers in it. Liked her eyes. Some of them liked to run their fingers under the torc she’d been fitted with, their fingers pressed up against her neck; some liked to tug the chains that bound her wrists.

She hated them all. And she _fought_ them, too, scraped skin off under her fingernails and kneed groins and, when she couldn’t do anything else, tried to pull her power into herself, giving them no pulse of enchanter’s pleasure. She lost track of time. She barely ate. And as a list of names grew in her head, one by one, each the wizards who had paid for a night of entertainment… so too did that fire in her gut. The conviction. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong_.

The girl who would become the Dragon nurtured a flame within.

<><><>

Leander Hastings did not often visit the Trade.

This was by design. He hated the concept of the place, hated the fact that something so despicable could still exist – and, indeed, maintain an appreciable _demand_. Carrie might’ve gone to the Trade, if she’d been captured by Traders instead of the Roses. That alone was enough to bias him against it. But more so was the fact that the Trade was the most obvious incarnation of wizard supremacy yet known to the world.

Furthermore, one could not just _visit_ the Trade. It wasn’t a market set up in a single location; wizards had connections that led them to Trade owners and organizers. It was an elitist system, and one Hastings was not eager to be a part of.

And then he began to hear rumors of the enchanter.

Those rumors… they intrigued him. His expectations were low, but the possibility was there: the enchanter might be willing to join him. (Especially, he thought, after months in the thick of the Trade.) And an enchanter at his side… a better spy, Hastings couldn’t imagine.

So he sought her out. He tapped into his own network and found out who owned her. And then he found himself at an apartment in London, tapping politely on the old mahogany door.

A man Hastings didn’t recognize opened it, raising an eyebrow. “Mr. Royal?”

Hastings gave him a nod and pushed past him into the foyer without waiting to be invited. Oliver Royal was the false name he’d chosen for this encounter. He waited as the man closed the door and stepped back, sizing Hastings up.

“Okay, then, let’s make sure you’re informed,” the man said. “She’s not docile. That’s what we tell everyone who wants a night, and half the wizards don’t believe us. The other half, well, it’s what they’re here for. No knocking her around – at least, not visibly – and no removing the restraints.” He shrugged. “That’s about all,” he said, then named a ridiculously exorbitant price.

“For one night?”

The Trader gave Hastings an incredulous stare. “It’s an _enchanter_.”

“All right,” Hastings said, pulling out his pocketbook, “you’ve sold me. May I presume you’re the one in charge of this operation?” He said it casually, easily; _nothing to expect here._

“Me ‘n Barney in the back,” the man said with a shrug. “It’s decent. Better than decent. A few weeks more and we’ll be set for life.”

Hastings gave him a curt nod and handed over the bills. The Trader counted them meticulously before giving Hastings a satisfied nod and turning on his heel. Hastings followed him to a room secured with three separate locks and a white porcelain handle. (“You can never be too careful with precious cargo,” the Trader told him with a wink.)

Hastings stepped in. The Trader shut the door behind him.

<><><>

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. The room was dimly lit – a rather half-assed attempt to make the situation appear more sensual, in Hastings’ opinion. The instant the door shut, he could see someone getting to their feet from the bed in the middle of the room – and hear the light _chink_ of thin silver chains brushing against each other.

With a sigh, Hastings muttered a charm – he didn’t fail to notice the figure’s shoulders tense as he did it – and improved the lighting in the room. It took them both a second to adjust to it, blinking owlishly at each other.

He hadn’t seen an enchanter in a long while. He was immediately reminded of the smooth grace with which they held themselves even when they weren’t aware they were doing it. The girl was quite pretty – stunning, even – with long, thick black hair wound into a braid over her shoulder. He could see the dark violet of her eyes from here – or maybe it was a night-sky blue – flecked with gold. And she looked… young. Young and angry.

She glowered at him and settled into what looked like a fighting stance.

Hastings raised his hands and set a spiraling web of magic through the air. The enchanter flinched again, but couldn’t seem to help giving Hastings a quizzical look when nothing befell her. “What—”

“Prevents eavesdropping,” Hastings explained. “Which is important, given that the first thing I want to tell you is that I’m going to murder the two wizards holding you here.”

Her eyes widened at that. He’d managed to surprise her. Still, she held herself warily, her face settling back into a neutral expression after a moment. “Liar,” she hissed.

“I am, in fact, being entirely honest,” Hastings said, holding his hands up in the air as if to illustrate the point. “Would you like me to prove it to you? I can take off the chains.”

She considered for a moment. Electricity crackled between them; Hastings couldn’t tell if it was magical or otherwise. He felt a light press of mind magic against his temples. “You’re telling the truth?” Her voice didn’t waver. He found himself impressed – he let her magic affect him, even, let her know he was giving in.

“Yes. I’m here to help.”

Apparently satisfied, she extended her wrists (though she didn’t make a move towards him). He walked over to her and, keeping his distance, slipped his fingers under the cuffs. Not a wisp of magic swept into him as their skin made contact, and he was impressed again; that took remarkable control. Either that, or the girl wasn’t that powerful – though from the insistent pressure she was still exerting on his mind, he doubted that.

“You’ll need to learn to be a bit more subtle,” Hastings said gently, reaching up towards her neck. She flinched back, as if involuntarily, and he held his hands still until she let him find the clasp of the torc. He whispered a few charms to disengage it, as he had for the cuffs, and it fell into his hands.

She was still looking at him like she wanted to kill him. He sighed. He’d wanted to do this somewhere more private, but, he realized, he might never have the chance.

“When I was a child, my sister, a warrior, was murdered by the Roses, as was my father. I’ve made it my life goal to upset the guild hierarchy. Take it apart by any means necessary. To be entirely truthful, I’m here to recruit you as a spy – though I won’t force you into anything you’re not fully willing to be a part of. Your captors may have told you a different name, but I my real one is Leander Hastings.”

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She’d heard of him, then.

“Hastings.”

He nodded. “I imagine your real name isn’t what they’d told me? They called you Julietta.”

She snorted. “Linda. I’m Linda.”

He liked that. It was a very down-to-earth name. Practical. “Linda.” He raised an eyebrow. “So. Do you need some time to think it over?”

She shook her head and extended her hand. He took it. Apparently, she _had_ been holding back; he felt a pulse of magic so powerful it almost floored him pour into his hand. An overwhelming amount. It made his skin tingle. “Not at all,” Linda the enchanter said, her voice resolute. “I’m willing.”

“Excellent,” Hastings said, giving her a nod. “We’ll arrange the details later. But for now,” he gave her a little bow and half a grin, “would you like to ruin the two poor excuses for wizards that called themselves your masters?”

<><><>

Linda wasn’t a wizard.

She had come to realize this at a fundamental level, during the Trade. Afterward, she cut her hair short and kept it that way; she couldn’t leave it long without thinking about all the times her _visitors_ had commented on it, grinning as they smoothed their hands through it. Were she a wizard, she would never have experienced the Trade. She would never have been locked up. Treated as an object, a possession, someone for whom her own _hair_ had to be reclaimed.

With Lee, she learned more. She learned how easy it was for wizards to underestimate her time and time again. She learned how to subtly weave her web of mind magic into their thoughts, teasing out information they never realized they’d shared. She learned how to coordinate, how to plan, how to pull the strings of a giant puppet show only she could see.

She didn’t learn all of this with Lee – especially not after Seph, after she swore off the two of them for their own protection. She taught herself, and traveled, and learned from other enchanters, seers, sorcerers, and _even_ the occasional wizard. She visited Becka and Jack. She got into sticky situations and got herself back out of them. (She would never again set foot in the Trade except for rescue operations far more successful than her first.) She made connections, wove webs, and, eventually, teased a dangerous shadow of rebellion out of her activities.

She wasn’t Linda Downey. She couldn’t be; providing her identity like that to a world of wizards was just asking for death. No, she was something stronger, more powerful for her anonymity, for words that wrapped around wizards’ throats like weapons.

She was _not_ a wizard. She was an enchanter, an activist, a _rebel_.

She was the Dragon, and she had fire in her veins.


End file.
